


That's What People Do, Isn't It? Leave A Note?

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: BBC, Benedict Cumberbatch - Freeform, GUESS WHO ALMOST KILLED THEMSELVES WRITING THIS?, M/M, Post Reichenbach, Sherlock - Freeform, martin freeman - Freeform, sherlock bbc - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-21
Updated: 2013-07-21
Packaged: 2017-12-20 22:18:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/892536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is still in hiding after the Fall. He tries to catch a glimpse of John, but he finds out that John has jumped off a building. Not knowing whether he is alive or not, Sherlock rushes to find out.<br/>It's short. Sherlock is very slightly OOC.<br/>This work was actually inspired by this lovely drawing:<br/>http://butiaminthecloset.tumblr.com/post/48868804247/reapersun-dont-worry-sherlock-hes-fine-this<br/>I slipped a very, very, slight Les Miserables reference in there, but if you aren't in the fandom, it won't make a difference.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That's What People Do, Isn't It? Leave A Note?

The wind ruffled John’s hair. It was long. He hadn’t cut it since-  
Stop, he told himself, don’t think about him. John closed his eyes. The man’s face appeared suddenly. Charcoal black hair and those blue eyes...  
John’s eyes flutter open. Lestrade kept telling him that things would look brighter, but John's tired of waiting. He steps up onto the ledge and closes his eyes. With Sherlock’s face in his mind, he jumps off the building. He keeps his eyes closed the whole way down.  
***  
Sherlock Holmes hurriedly walks along an alleyway with his head down. He decided that he couldn’t go much longer without seeing John. It was risky, but he had to make sure his partner in crime (so to speak) hadn’t gotten himself into a load of trouble.  
As soon as he turns into the alley behind 221B Baker St, he knows something is not right. There is an uneasy silence. Once he made sure it was empty, Sherlock hops onto the fire escape and climbs into an open window. Boxes and boxes full of science equipment and severed body parts fill one side of the living room. The door is unlocked.  
Someone has been here. Mrs. Hudson keeps this door padlocked, so it wasn’t her.  
Sherlock thought to himself. The thought that John had come to 221B was absurd.  
He hasn’t been here since the fall.  
Sherlock continues to look around. A slip of paper is laying on the coffee table.  
Odd. That wasn’t there before.  
His curiosity getting the best of him, he picked it up. A scrawled handwriting that he knew all too well was on it. Realization hit Sherlock. He was out the door before the note hit the ground. The sunlight from the window hit the paper, which read, still wet tear marks littering the page,  
“That’s what people do, isn’t it? Leave a note?”  
***  
Sherlock didn’t even attempt to hide his identity. Mrs. Hudson’s teacup fell to the ground with a clatter as she stared, wide eyed, at the familiar black haired man running out her door.  
He didn’t waste time getting into a cab. Sherlock flat out ran from 221B to St. Bartholomew’s Hospital.  
After getting a plethora of weird looks on each block he passed, Sherlock stopped abruptly and fell to his knees at what he saw. Two bloodstains on the sidewalk. One much fresher than the last. He choked back a sob, got onto his feet, and ran into the hospital doors.  
The nurse looked at him like he was crazy.  
“John Watson. Is John Watson here?”  
“I know you. You were in the newspaper.”  
“Nevermind that! John Watson. Spelled exactly how it sounds! Tell me! Is he here?”  
The nurse reluctantly looked down at her computer.  
“Yes, room 24601. But visiting hours just ended, Sir.”  
Sherlock never heard the last bit. As soon as the numbers were spoken, he took off towards the elevators. He pressed the button about a dozen times before he got impatient and dashed up six flights of stairs.  
Actually, he was so excited and relieved, he accidently ran up two extra flights of stairs. Realizing his mistake, he swore and bolted down the stairs at twice the speed.  
He flew into the hallway.  
24583, 24596, 24609  
God Dammit.  
After backtracking once again, Sherlock finally reached Room 24601. He busted through door, only to stop in his tracks once he saw him. John looked something awful. His head was wrapped above the ears. Cuts and bruises were everywhere. One of his arms was heavily bandaged.  
Watson slowly lifted his head.  
“Sherlock?” he said in disbelief.  
The other man’s smile faltered. He quickly rolled the white stool over to the side of the bed and sat down. The words caught in his throat and a soundless tear fell off his cheek.  
The bandaged men feebly smiled and gently pulled the black haired man’s head into his lap.  
Silent sobs racked his body, but John held him. And as an unheard tear ran down his cheek, he knew he would never let this man go again.


End file.
